


A slight case of delirium

by Fatale (femme)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-01
Updated: 2006-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:32:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale





	A slight case of delirium

Follows [A most unusual case](http://fatale.livejournal.com/158742.html).

A slight case of delirium  
(Chase/House) PG  
WC: 1192

 

This was ridiculous, worse, it was stupid. Stupid and ridiculous, oh, why wouldn't his hands stop shaking already?

Chase cursed softly as he tried to do his tie - a tasteful blue that matched his eyes that he had never worn before. Usually, he'd smile and ask a sales girl to tie it for him, which they always _jumped at_ and when he got home, he'd loosen it, careful not to ruin the knot and hang it like that in his closet, ready for wear. It had been years since he'd even attempted to tie one himself and as his fingers clumsily fumbled with it, he realized he'd lost his touch, if he ever had it to begin with.

He'd worn a tie like this to his mother's funeral.

This would undoubtedly be the tie for _his_ funeral if someone really could die from embarrassment.

 

***

 

The phone rang half past seven and Chase nearly crawled up the wall, his nerves were so shot. He picked up the phone gingerly, like House might travel through the phone and kick his ass for being stupid.

"You're late," Chase said inanely.

"I like to make an entrance," House said. There was a hum in the background that sounded suspiciously like his motorcycle.

"Don't you actually have to come in to make an entrance?"

"Do you want to go on a date with me or not?"

 _No_ , Chase's mind instantly supplied. _I'd rather be mauled by a bear._

"Yes," he lied, and knew House knew he was lying.

Just like normal, then.

 

***

 

"Nice tie," House said, looking Chase up and down appreciatively in a way that made Chase wish he'd put on a few more layers. "Then again, it is dark and I have yet to see it in full light. It might yet be hideous."

"Thanks," Chase said dryly, relieved when House turned away. Until he caught sight of House's motorcycle. "House-" he began.

But House was busy lifting his leg over the side and snapping his cane in place.

"Bitch seat for you," House said, with an inordinate amount of glee.

As Chase opened his mouth to protest, House gunned the engine, drowning him out. Chase sighed and grabbed the helmet out of House's hand.

 

***

 

"My god, man," House said when Chase pulled off the helmet, "does nothing ruin your hair?"

"It's nice to have hair," Chase said unsteadily. His stomach, it seemed, was back on the pavement.

Chase raised his eyebrows when he saw the name of the restaurant.

"Same place you took Cameron?"

"I'm conducting a scientific experiment," House said. "No extra variables." He held out a small box that Chase hadn't noticed before. Inside, a small white corsage gleamed in the dull light.

Chase's eyebrows were making a valiant effort not to crawl up into his hairline as House pinned it on his jacket lapel. Chase wondered if this was a joke, a test to see how much he'd take before he broke. Or cried.

"Looks good on you," House said gruffly, avoiding his eyes.

Not a joke, then. How the hell long had it been since House had been a proper date? 1970?

"Thanks," Chase mumbled, at a loss.

"Wait 'til I compliment your earrings."

 

***

 

"So, " House said, his attempt at being subtle both awkward and painfully transparent. "What are your hopes, dreams, and aspirations?"

"What?"

"Wilson said it was a total panty-peeler."

"I am not wearing panties," Chase assured him.

House looked intrigued and abandoned the menu in favor of studying Chase. "What _are_ you wearing?"

The corner of Chase's menu twitched in response. "I am not sleeping with you."

"Nice earrings."

"I'm not wearing any."

"Nice shoes. Look comfy."

"You hate these shoes. You make fun of them all the time."

"They must look better tonight because they aren't paired with your migraine-inducing shirts."

"If you keep talking this sweetly," Chase said with a bravado he did not feel, "I might get the wrong impression."

 

***

 

Oh hell, why did he agree to this? Chase licked his lips nervously, and belatedly noticing the intent way House's eyes followed the swipe of his tongue. His hands were sweating like he was fourteen again and on his first kinda date with some girl who he can’t remember now.

Something, something had to give or he'd have a heart attack, and House would undoubtedly use it for comedic material come Monday.

_So, Chase, why the long face? Is it because you had a heart attack during our date? Bada bing!_

Chase nearly choked on his water.

"Don't you want to talk?" House asked. “Cameron did.”

“I’m not Cameron.”

"Want to know what I really think of you?"

Chase was sure his eyes were as wide as his glass. "Sure."

"I think you have daddy issues. I think you’ve never done what you really wanted in your life because you're too afraid of being unpopular, unloved. Whoever you can't win over with your cool-dude looks and accent, you try to get with your personality. But it's all a facade, isn't it? All designed to cover your overwhelming need and your fear that if people don't love you enough, they will all leave you in the end. That's why you're here. This is your last ditch effort to reassert me as the loving paternal figure you never had."

House sat back with a frown, not looking entirely pleased with himself, but kind of relieved, maybe.

Chase blinked.

"Don't have anything to say? " House said slowly, awkwardly.

"You're wrong," Chase said, and took another sip of his water.

"Excuse me?" House asked, visibly aggrieved.

"You're absolutely wrong. I don't give a damn what people think and if I wanted you as a paternal figure, I certainly don't think going on a date would be the way to go about it."

It was House's turn to blink.

Chase continued conversationally, "And you're right, House. I shouldn't be so nice. I should just be a bastard like you."

"I-"

“I think you’re an ass,” Chase interrupted brightly. "A miserable old ass." Then he sat back, looking immensely satisfied with himself.

"Some would agree," House said slowly.

House's eyes looked bright with interest, but Chase didn't care. He was on a suicide mission of sorts. He was feeling reckless. He'd be fucking honest for once or die trying.

"Some?" Chase scoffed. "Try _all_ , House. I agreed to this date because I thought there might be something more to you. Perhaps not."

"I see you've grown a spine."

"I always had one.”

House nodded, looking pleased with himself and Chase's eye twitched. What did House have to feel good about? Dammit.

He needed to figure out why House was so happy suddenly, why- something was poking his leg.

"Is that your cane or are you just happy to be on a date with me?" Chase asked absurdly, speaking without thinking.

House looked up, stunned, before his mouth twitched. Chase didn’t understand what he was seeing until House finally cracked a smile, no calculation, no anger, no sarcasm, just him: pure amusement and unnervingly blue eyes.

Oh, Chase thought. There you are, House.

 

 

 

THE END.


End file.
